On those words, she started up the hillside without looking back.
Chapter Seventeen
It didn’t take long for Alan to find all three of the horses. He rode one and allowed the other two to trail behind him as he headed back toward the spring. He hungrily searched the area where he and Jessamine had parted, hoping and praying to see her waiting alongside the ark.
At the sight of four dark-clothed men, his blood ran cold.
“Hello, Sir Alan. Is that not what they call you?”
“Who are you?” Alan asked, but he feared he already knew.
“Your enemy,” the man replied in a thick accent.
These were the assassins who’d attacked Jessamine and him in the desert. As the men surrounded the ark, Alan returned his attention to the one closest to him, who bore a deep scar down the side of his face.
“Where’s the girl?” the scarred man asked.
Alan forced himself to keep his emotions in check. Emotion always interfered with his ability to reason and plan. He kept his expression grim, assessing his options.
“Could it be possible we killed her with our poison darts?”
Alan’s frown deepened.
The man smiled. “We had hoped to kill you both, but the woman was the easier target. I’m pleased to hear we were successful.”
They thought she was dead. He had to keep them thinking that way. “You got the girl—what else can you want?”
“We want the ark.” The men moved to surround him, as though they intended to kill him right here and now. “We’ve waited many years for the legendary Templars to come back for the ark they stole from us.” His gaze narrowed on Alan. “Why did they only send one of you? We’d hoped to eliminate hundreds, as we did during the Crusades.”
“Damn you to hell.”
A sudden flare of anger darkened the dark-clothed assassin’s expression. “You disappoint me, Templar.” The man stepped closer and angled his hooked sword at Alan’s horse. “You will dismount immediately, or I’ll cut you down myself.”
Alan slid to the ground and tensed, ready to fight. He let the reins dangle freely, then gave a shrill whistle. He drew his sword as he slapped his horse on the rear. Spooked by the sound and the motion, his horse reared violently. The other two horses shrieked, and they all bolted back toward the valley.
An angry cry rent the air. The man’s eyes narrowed and his scar pulsed red. He leaped at Alan with his sword.
In a heartbeat, Alan blocked the strike. He gripped his sword tightly as the other three men charged. Four to one. He’d encountered worse odds on the battlefield.
Alan sank his sword into one attacker, then turned to the next. It was hard to predict the arc of his enemies’ short, curved swords, and Alan felt the bite of their blades against the flesh of his upper arm and thigh. He spun away, gaining distance and a moment’s respite. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a blinding blue light streaked around them, weaving in and out among the dark-clothed men. They screamed as the light touched them, leaving glowing red embers where it had struck.
Alan stumbled back from the familiar light which was moving like an overwhelming force against his enemies. The men ran for their horses and bolted from the scene, leaving Alan, the ark, and the blue light behind.
As the attackers rode away, Alan stumbled and drew a sharp breath. The wound in his thigh and his arm were not fatal, but they both stung as he studied the strange blue light. It hovered before him momentarily, then streaked away, following the dark-clothed men out into the desert.
Alan stumbled toward the ark. He leaned against it as he watched the light until it was no longer visible. That was the second time the strange blue orb had helped him and Jessamine in some way. He frowned at the thought, and he was even more perplexed when he noticed his wounds no longer stung.
He bolted upright when he realized he’d been leaning on the Ark of the Covenant. His gaze dropped to his thigh, to where the fabric of his robe had been split by one of the lethal hooked swords. Blood lingered on the fabric, but the flesh beneath looked as though it had never been injured. He brought his fingers up to his arm, touching his other wound. Once again he found the fabric sliced through and spattered with blood, but the flesh beneath was untouched.
A miracle.
Alan turned to stare at the ark. He’d touched it by accident and hadn’t been incinerated on the spot as he’d very much expected to be. A heart must be pure. His own words drifted through his mind, and his chest grew tight. Even after everything that had happened in his life, the Lord still found him deserving.
Alan dropped to his knees. “Thank you for believing in me,” he said, then rose. He flexed his leg and his arm and smiled, then turned toward the mountain and started up the steep incline.
Miracles did not change what he needed to do. He must find Jessamine. She should have returned from the mountain long before he’d come back with the horses. Something was wrong. His joy faded and fear took its place. He started to run.
He would find her. He had to.
It was almost time.
The conde sighted Jessamine in the distance. Every step brought her closer to him. Everything he wanted would soon be his. Everything.
He settled himself more comfortably against the rocks he sat upon to wait. He smiled as he watched her hasten up the path, oblivious to the trap he’d set for her.
Once he had her, he could do whatever he pleased. He would sample her delights right there on the mountainside, before joining his men below. The conde drew a thin dagger from his boot and pressed the flat side of the blade against his cheek, let the cool steel fire his blood.
Jessamine would soon experience the pain and pleasure he could bring to her. He closed his eyes. He drew in the scent of blood that still lingered on the blade from the last time he’d used it. It was almost time.
“Will. Where are you?” Jessamine called for the hundredth time. She’d searched everywhere on the Obelisk Terrace for their aged guide. But she’d found no footprints, no sign he’d ever been there.
Jessamine breathed a frustrated sigh. She paused near the altar, then slightly behind it at the sacrificial stone where she and Alan had first made love. Warmth pooled in her belly.
He’d asked her to marry him.
She bit down on her lip. If only the choice were her own…but it wasn’t. Her uncle had the ultimate say in whom she married. She’d always been destined for some political marriage, no doubt to a foreign prince to help forge ties with Spain. And her uncle needed the gold a marriage could bring to Spain.
At the altar, she paused and brushed her fingers lightly over the rough stone. Alan would be considered unacceptable to her uncle because of his low rank. If she married him anyway, she’d be condemning him to death.
Her uncle would have no choice but to charge them both with treason if they went back to Spain. And if they didn’t, there was no guarantee that her uncle wouldn’t send men after them anyway. They’d be forced into a life of seclusion and poverty forever. And she wouldn’t do that to Alan. She straightened. She cared about him too much.
Her chest heavy with grief, Jessamine wandered away from the temple terrace, over to the edge of the mountain, where the ground fell away into a steep cliff tumbling down to a red-gold valley below. On the other side, red mountains pierced the skyline, dominating the entire horizon.
The edge of the cliff where she stood seemed to end in a void of space and warm, dry air. The wind came up, plucking at the hem of her gown and tossing the length of her hair into wild disarray. She allowed that tempestuous wind to consume her, to fill her senses. She drew a sharp breath. Felt it cleanse the grief from her soul.
Grief had seemed to dominate her life in Spain, but today it had all but vanished because of Alan. With him, she felt a sense of freedom and joy that had been missing from her life for a long time now.
She didn’t want to give up those feelings by returning home and resuming her place in the palace, by marrying someone else. Her uncl
e, the king, was growing impatient with her refusal to marry. Jessamine turned her face into the wind. Had the conde gone through the proper channels, she was certain the king would have entertained his suit. Even though he wasn’t the foreign prince her uncle wanted, he had money to offer—money Spain desperately needed. A shudder ran through her.
She would rather stay here in the Holy Land and live among the Bedouins than submit to that Spanish pig’s lecherous desires. And yet, if she returned to Spain, she might not be given a choice.
Were there any other alternatives for her? Tears dotted her lashes, but she wiped them away with the back of her hand. One more stanza of the prophecy remained. It was the stanza that frightened her more than any of the others. The first three seemed like the clues for a grand adventure. The last one threatened to send her to her doom.
The words filled her mind with the usual dread and pain.
The fate of the parents will not be yours as a sacrifice heralds the start of a new war.
Since she’d been young enough to comprehend the words of the prophecy, she’d hated the word sacrifice.
Jessamine stared ahead of her, focusing on the mountains in the distance. It was time for the fourth stanza to present itself, as the other three had. She closed her eyes against a surge of fear. What sort of sacrifice would be involved?
The soft sound of boot heels clicking on rock came from behind her. Alan? An overwhelming sense of well-being washed over her. She turned to greet him.
The conde stood before her.
Her happiness died, and her blood ran cold.
His beady black eyes stared at her as he laughed. “Were you expecting someone else?”
His hand cracked against the side of her face with such force that she fell to the ground at the edge of the cliff. Her feet slipped into nothingness. She screamed.
The conde gripped her hand, dug into her flesh, as he pulled her back over the edge. “You’re not getting away from me that easily, my dearest.” He smiled. “My inconvenience has been great. And you’ll pay for it all.”
His cheeks mottled as his smile widened. “I can almost taste your fear. Perhaps you were worth the wait.”
Jessamine shook her head, trying to clear it of the ringing pain from the conde’s blow.
Once she was back upon the ground, he released her hand and gripped her hair, yanking her to her feet. “Tell me where the bastard you’ve been traveling with is hiding.”
“I don’t know.”
Agony rocked her as his hand struck her cheek again. Her head reeled back and her vision blurred. Heaven help her. She couldn’t lose consciousness in this man’s presence. She had to stay alert. It was the only way she’d survive.
“Once again I’ll ask you, where is the man?” he demanded in a too-quiet voice that sent icy rivulets of fear down her spine.
At her silence he continued, “I’ll find him anyway. You know I will. That man must pay for taking you away from me.”
“It was I who—”
Pain exploded against her other cheek this time. She crumpled to the ground, despite the conde’s ruthless grip on her hair. A sharp rock sliced her lip and she felt the warm trickle of blood move down her chin, her neck.
“You are no match for me, Jessamine. Soon I’ll have everything I ever wanted from you.”
“What do you want? I have nothing to offer.”
“Oh, but you do,” he sneered. “As my bride, you’ll help your husband to the crown of Spain.”
“That’s impossible. King Alfonso has too many heirs for my connection to the crown to matter.”
“One good bout of plague, my dearest, and you never know who’ll be left to pick up the pieces. I shall claim the throne by default. No one will argue, or they’ll die trying.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, I’ll dare,” he said, sliding a finger cruelly over her bruised cheek. “I’ll dare that and so much more.” He dipped his finger into the blood at her lip and brought it to his nose. He drew a slow, deep breath. His dark eyes filled with lust.
Her stomach lurched.
God help her.
Jessamine screamed. His blood thundering in his ears, Alan pushed himself up the hillside. He had to reach her.
He crested the Obelisk Terrace and skidded to a halt, searching the area for a sign that she had been there. Then he saw what he’d feared most—her small footsteps leading to the cliff. He hurried to the edge and looked over, praying he’d not see her body lying at the bottom. His breath rushed out with relief when he saw nothing but rocks below.
He crouched down, studying the rocky dirt farther back from the cliff’s edge. He spotted two sets of footprints, and signs of a struggle…along with several drops of blood. Terror more debilitating than he’d ever known suffocated him. His mind went blank. He stared at the blood upon the red-gold ground. Jessamine’s blood.
He had to think. Come up with a plan. Alan clenched his hands. He needed a horse. But before he could try to recapture one of the horses he’d scared off, he had to discern the direction Jessamine and her captor were headed.
Alan followed the trail of footprints disappearing down the left side of the summit. He stumbled over the loose rock in his haste. By the look of the prints, there were only two of them—Jessamine’s small prints and those of a larger man.
Alan followed the trail. At the bottom of the mountain, he paused where four more sets of footprints joined the others and mixed with at least five horses’ hoofprints. Jessamine’s captor had had reinforcements waiting for him.
Alan raced toward the spot where he’d found his own horses once before. To his relief they were there, munching on the grass as though nothing had happened. And standing there beside the horses was Will.
“Where in God’s peace were you?” Relief and fury clashed, making the words sound harsher than he’d intended.
Will cringed as he hunched over his cane. “I must have fallen asleep.” He frowned, his gaze searching behind Alan. “Where’s Jessamine?”
“She’s been abducted.”
“By whom?”
“I don’t know.” Alan reached for his saddlebag and withdrew the mail he’d stored there when they’d first arrived in the desert. No matter how hot or heavy, the armor was necessary. His last encounter had warned him that he needed the protection. He slipped the mail on, then flung himself on the back of his horse.
Will’s frown darkened. “Where’s the ark?”
“By the Spring of Moses. Where I pray it will remain until I get back with Jessamine.”
Will shuffled to the horse nearest him and mounted. “I’ll take care of the ark.”
Alan growled his frustration. “I can’t leave you alone. There are assassins who attacked me. They want the ark.”
Will’s hazy gray eyes became shards of steel. “They would do well not to tangle with me.”
Alan’s frown deepened. He’d already made one mistake this day by allowing Jessamine to go off by herself. Was he compounding his failings by abandoning Will as well?
“I cannot leave you to such a fate.”
Will straightened in the saddle. “I might not be as mighty a warrior as you, but I have ways of taking care of myself. Do not worry, and delay yourself no longer. I’ll meet you in Jaffa with the ark.”
“But how will you find us?”
“I’ll find you. That’s all you need to know.” He kicked his horse and galloped back toward the base of Jabel Madhbah.
For a moment Alan hesitated. What if Will stole the ark for himself? Or was captured by the assassins the blue orb had scared off before? Alan frowned after the old man’s retreating image. “I have to trust him,” he said as he urged his own horse in the opposite direction. The gelding took off with a thunderous stride. Alan leaned over the horse’s neck, encouraging even greater speed. He tightened his hold on the reins and searched for tracks.
He rode for nearly an hour before he finally caught sight of Jessamine on horseback along with five ot
her riders, heading back toward Jaffa. Hiding behind acacia trees and rock ledges jutting out of the sand, Alan followed as soundlessly as possible.
A short time later, the abductors stopped near a rock face opening into a cave.
Alan dismounted about fifty feet from them, then strode forward, secreting himself and his horse in the shadow of the low brush. Heat seeped up from the desert floor, wringing beads of sweat from his brow. The only sound to score the silence was his own harsh breathing.
Four men had stationed themselves in the four corners of the camp, acting as guards.
Alan kept his gaze on Jessamine. She sat atop a horse with her hands bound before her. A dark man stood alongside her horse and roughly jerked her to the ground. His mouth twisted into a cruel smile. Instantly, Alan recognized the man they’d seen at the Temple Mount. The man Jessamine had called the conde.
Alan clenched his jaw, holding back an angry rush of breath as the man grasped her elbow and propelled her toward the cave.
“Come along, my dearest. I can wait not a moment more.”
Jessamine walked beside him without speaking, but Alan recognized the fear in her eyes.
He clenched his fists, forcing himself to wait and watch for his moment to strike. He needed a plan to get her out of this place safely.
Suddenly Jessamine twisted out of the man’s grip. But she only took two steps before he grasped her hair and threw her to the ground.
The man growled, then straddled her on the ground. “I had the notion of preserving your modesty, but you’ve determined a different fate for yourself. Look at me while I ravage you, Princess!”
Alan’s blood pounded in his veins. His body tensed, prepared to strike. He needed a distraction, just one small thing to balance the odds.
The conde lowered himself over Jessamine. He clawed at her bodice until it ripped open and clasped a meaty hand over her bare breast. “Are you weeping, Princess?”
She sank her teeth into his hand.
He shrieked.
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